


Performing Arts

by throttlegainwell



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throttlegainwell/pseuds/throttlegainwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But there was no real way to tell your best friend in the next room, "Hey, go for it, you've been personally invited to jerk off while I eat out this enthusiastic English lit major from Long Island. If I hear you come from the next room then I'll embarrass myself right here all over the floor before she can even get me out of my pants." At least, there was no subtle way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Performing Arts

**Author's Note:**

> Two combined prompts:
> 
>   _Posted before, but not sure if people saw but I would love love love for Matt or foggy to go to town on some lucky lady and make them see stars and maybe forget their name and limbs. I dunno...just gimme either one of those muffins loving to go down on their girl and make them feel good._
> 
> and
> 
>   _When Matt and Foggy were sharing an apartment, Matt would get off on the fact that he could hear/sense Foggy jerking off in the other room while Matt was getting it on with an attractive lady. He'd also make sure to be extra noisy about it, and make sure whoever he was with was extra noisy too._

Foggy's heart sometimes slipped in an extra beat, for no apparent reason. Just how it was. Every few beats it'd show up. It sounded random, but it wasn't. Matt worked out the rhythm a while back. It turned up twice a minute most of the time.

He'd heard it four times a minute since the first moan spilled from Melanie's lips, loud and pleased and just getting started. First it stuttered, startled, and then it sped up, and just like clockwork those curiously wedged in little beats skipped along as always.

Sheets rustled, too. It could have been restlessness, but he liked to think that it was indecision, a fervent desire for Foggy to reach underneath the blankets and touch himself warring with his ethics that told him that it'd be invasive and gross. Matt didn't think it'd be gross, but he knew he had a skewed perspective on the whole privacy thing. Maybe all those years of being an accidental voyeur had reinforced his exhibitionist side, making him want to stand out above all of the noise.

But there was no real way to tell your best friend in the next room, "Hey, go for it, you've been personally invited to jerk off while I eat out this enthusiastic English lit major from Long Island. If I hear you come from the next room then I'll embarrass myself right here all over the floor before she can even get me out of my pants." At least, there was no subtle way.

He tightened his grip on Melanie's upper thighs, slipping his hands higher to really dig into the muscle. He liked the feel of her skin, damp with sweat and smooth except for the soft fine hairs and the little divots of stretch marks on her hips (he never felt those for long, since a lot of girls got self-conscious, but he liked all the marks on people's skin that told a story, that told him some small measure of who they'd been). Her muscles tensed and relaxed and tensed again under his hands, and she rolled her hips in a circle, daring him to keep her still, keep her in place.

"Oh," she breathed out. Her hand tightened in his hair. " _Oh._ " 

He giggled a little, giddy and breathless. 

She gave him a small laugh, too. "Sorry. I know I should ... _uh, God_ ... be softer..."

He bit lightly at the inside of her thigh. "You're plenty soft to me." He nosed up at her clit, bumping back and forth across it, inhaling her scent, until a groan welled up in her throat and her legs tightened around his head.

"You know what I meant."

He carefully pulled her legs apart and spread them wide, holding them there despite her protests. He kissed the juncture of her thigh. "I know. Don't worry about it." 

She huffed another laugh through her nose, reedy and breathy because he wasted no time latching his lips onto her and sucking hard for all he was worth, pressing and kneading and massaging until she could probably feel the outline of his teeth through his skin. 

When she whimpered, muscles tightening as though trying to squeeze her legs together to prolong the sensation, increase the pressure, is when Matt finally heard it: the careful, hesitant slide of skin on skin from the next room, under the sheet, barely wet at all. Probably just spit. He shivered.

He pulled back, nosed through her hair, leaned in lower to draw his tongue up through her slickness. She was so wet that when he slid his hands down to grip her ass, trails of it pooled where his fingers met. He rubbed it into her skin, sticky and already drying where it touched, thinking that she was probably going to be annoyed about that later, but the glide of it was intoxicating. His fingertips were sensitive and tingling and he couldn’t help imagining that on his dick, surrounding it, but _warmer_ , downright _hot_.

“You like it so much,” she pushed through clenched teeth, hooking an ankle over his shoulder, rubbing it over the side of his neck, “give it a try.”

Her other leg dipped down and away, coming back up to rub at his crotch with her toes, light circles, teasing prods, before she flattened the top of it against him and pushed hard.

He grunted. “You make a compelling case.” He started to reach for his belt, remembered at the last second that his hand was sticky, and brought it back up to absently suck the slickness off of his fingers.

Melanie’s breathing stopped completely for a second after a startled breath, and he paused, concerned, with his belt in his hand, before he realized. _Oh._ He couldn’t completely stop the grin that curved his mouth, or the way his tongue darted out to moisten his already wet lips. Not being a visual creature, he was sometimes thoughtless when it came to things like that, focusing more on sensation and smell and sound and how he could use those to undo someone. He could conjure a beautiful image of how he was experiencing this scene in his mind, and he pieced it together just fine, certainly wasn’t complaining, but when he thought about actually _watching_ someone clean him off of their fingers … watching their tongue drag and caress … Yeah, he certainly wasn’t complaining, but he could see the appeal.

And there was something about Foggy listening and Melanie _watching_ him that made his breath shallow and harsh, made him ache to shove his pants down with no finesse and grab himself, but he chose to perform instead, trying it on for size. He rubbed the supple belt between his fingers as it slid through the loops, thumbed the button on his pants like he’d thumbed her clit, clenched the zipper between his knuckles and slid it down and up, down at up, like he’d rubbed her slit. Maybe it was silly, maybe she’d laugh it off, but her heart was pounding honest and rapt. 

She liked it.

He purposely dropped the belt on the bare floor, not the rug under him, reveling in the telling, obvious sound of it hitting the linoleum, the heavy _thunk_ and the little jingle. No way to mistake that from the other room.

His pants slid right down almost of their own accord with nothing to hold them onto his slim hips, which he hoped looked sexy and not absurd, but he thought, as another pulse of pheromones poured from her, as the bed creaked under her while she adjusted her hips, as she affectionately dragged her foot up his neck and tapped his chin with her toes, that he wouldn’t mind if she laughed. It was a nice moment; one that he was pretty sure wouldn’t translate through drywall and cheap paint. Oh, well. Some things were too intimate to share.

He wondered, though, what he looked like, kneeling on the rug, belt snaking out a full two feet away, pants pooled around his knees. Shirt on but open and billowed loose around him, undershirt rucked up to his navel. A wave of heat bloomed down his body; he shuddered through the warmth of it. Fingers hooked into the waistband of his underwear did away with them quickly and efficiently and he wasted no time switching hands, the mostly dry except for cooling spit one taking up its position under her ass and the one even wetter than before wrapping right around his dick and tugging _hard_. 

She moaned before he did, but it was a close thing.

“God, Matt, that’s so fucking hot,” she said, laughing and sounding shocked. “Get back in there.”

She grabbed his hair and pulled him close enough to feel enveloped by the heat and humidity of her, not so close that he’d be smothered and claustrophobic. He liked it, being grabbed, being manhandled, being trusted enough to be able to _take it_. He leaned in the last couple of inches by himself, breathing on her, breathing her in, drinking in her scent and her sounds and the slide from next door that had gotten slicker while his attention was elsewhere. _You don’t multitask like you used to, Murdock. What would dear old Stick-up-his-ass say?_

He gripped harder, growling a little into her slit until the plume of irritation that always rose in him thinking about _all of that shit_ ebbed like so much drifting smoke until he could feel more than the blood rushing through him. 

An extra beat. One more. Another. Breath through his nose. Stunted movements, like he was curled on his side and it limited the reach and mobility of his arm. Strained little moans, barely audible at all.

Focusing on Foggy helped. 

He winced when he let go of his dick. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Melanie didn’t seem to have noticed; he could hear her head thrown back into the pillows, feel from the pull of her hips that her back was probably arched. Could she see him over her breasts? He paused to run his tongue over his lips, face tipped up toward her, and she whined; so he guessed not. God, those breasts. He gave up the hand under her for a moment to reach up and hold one, test the weight of it in his palm, squeeze carefully in that way that pulled at her nipple. Her hand flew over his and held it there, fingers pushing between his to hold his hand in place, strong and firm.

His hand slipping along his dick was loud in his ears, probably loud even to her, not loud enough through the wall. He slurped unnecessarily at her, mouth wide, and it was comically loud. She snorted.

“If I can hear you so well, you’re not close enough.”

“I thought if your eyelashes aren’t wet, you’re not doing it right.”

She shifted, leaning over him, into his hand on her chest. And she laughed. “They actually are wet. Oh, my God. Holy shit, Matt. Come here.”

She leaned all the way down and kissed him, careful, methodical, and slow, all lips and no tongue. She kissed him all over until his whole face tingled with the feel of her lips on him, ridiculously tame compared to everything they’d just been doing, but his heart fluttered in his chest.

The noises from the other room stopped, but it didn’t sound like he’d finished. 

He found her lips and kissed her once, deeply, before diving right back into her lap with both hands and getting her off like she deserved.

The gasps and the strained, strangled sounds that tore out of her were almost enough to finish him off, but instead he waited a couple of measured beats, letting her center herself, before he pulled both hands away from her and leaned back onto his heels. He worked himself with both hands.

_One extra beat, and another, and another._

It didn’t take long, and he didn’t hold back when he came.

After a few panted breaths, he felt her kneel down beside him. “You sound amazing when you come. I want you to know how rare and special that is. Most guys sound like dying whales.”

He laughed. He thought he heard a snort from the other room. He raised his hand in an abortive movement, changed his mind, set it back down on his thigh. But maybe she sensed it anyway, because she picked his hand back up and licked his fingertips. It almost tickled; his shoulders twitched. 

He didn’t need to see it to for that to be one of the hottest things someone had ever done for him. When she kissed him, she tasted like him. He smiled against her, wiping the rest of his hand off on his underwear, and the other one, too, as an afterthought.

No more sounds from the other room, just careful, even breaths, too even to be natural. He wondered if they probably should talk about this.

Melanie rifled through her purse for a few seconds, then he heard the telltale crinkle of a condom being handled.

“How many have you got in you, Murdock?”

They could talk about it tomorrow.


End file.
